


Original Tempter

by Thestarlitrose



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale can't help himself, Crowley's Hips, M/M, Thirsty Aziraphale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:34:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24829912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thestarlitrose/pseuds/Thestarlitrose
Summary: After a long week working for the Dowling's, Crowley comes home to his flat for some much needed rest and relaxation. Aziraphale; ever vigilant, visits to discuss the young Antichrist's progress only to be unintentionally tempted by the original tempter himself.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 101





	Original Tempter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aretia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aretia/gifts), [GoodbyeVanny (TheFallenCaryatid)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFallenCaryatid/gifts).



> Inspired by a conversation about Whiteleyfoster's new Eden sweatshirt with Areita and GoodbyeVanny. I mentioned that to complete the ensemble, Crowley also needed some tight sweatpants with something written across his bum.

The scalding water felt incredible against his sore muscles. He stretched out his long limbs; tendons popped, and joints settled back into place. Crowley was coming off the end of an extra-long week working with the Dowling’s and had managed to make it to his flat without falling asleep behind the wheel.

Harriet and Thad had been away for nearly two weeks, leaving Crowley as the sole person, or in his case, demon, in charge of the four-year-old. He loved the kid. He did. But he’d recently started having nightmares and always seemed to find a way to sneak his way into Crowley’s narrow twin bed. He was grateful he had the next four days off to recuperate.

The water had begun to grow tepid—and while easily fixed with a glare from Crowley, he was beginning to feel pruney as well.

Stepping out of the showered he ran the fluffy towel over his slender body and reveled in the warmth and softness of the cloth against his damp skin.

He tied the towel around his waist and sat down in front of his vanity. Crowley didn’t need skincare—he was a demon after all, but he had a thing for things that smelled nice. After the week he’d had, he felt he deserved a little extra pampering.

And maybe a pizza too. With a snap of his fingers, his favorite pizza place began an order for a Mr. Crowley that they hadn’t recalled taking.

A spritz of toner and a dollop of moisturizer, he rubbed the cream into the delicate skin of his face.

He picked up another bottle. He was quite proud of this one. Nearly every teenage girl in America had been walking around smelling like this for the better part of the last decade with little indication in stopping anytime soon. Still, it did smell delicious. The towel fell to the side as he began rubbing the luxuriously scented lotion up and down his calf and over his thigh. When he finished his left leg, he began the same routine on his right. The lotion was then applied to his arms. 

He tied his hair up into a messy bun. Crowley could have miracled it dry but it felt like a wasted effort. His hair never felt right after he used a miracle on it. It seemed to dry it out for weeks after—likely the infernal nature of the miracle itself.

Crowley sauntered into his bedroom, throwing open the draw to pick out his favorite sweatshirt and bottoms. A scandalously tight pair of leggings with  _ Original Tempter _ written in bold letters on the back that would draw attention to his deliciously pert ass. On the right, a white print snake curled its way up the leg. The black sweatshirt was made of soft cotton material with Eden EST. 4004 B.C. printed across the front. It was well worn but too comfortable to get rid of. 

Crowley’s bare feet padded into his living room where he collapsed onto the couch. After a few moments of digging, he tugged his remote out from inside the couch and flicked the television on. He grinned; Crowley loved the Golden Girls. Especially when he was feeling exhausted.

His stomach rumbled. It wasn’t that Crowley didn’t like food—he loved to eat. It was just anytime he ate with the Angel, his mind tended to wander. Aziraphale was off too. He typically took a handful of days off each month to “return to his home in the country.” In reality, the angel would hide inside his beloved shop and read comfortably in his favorite chair.

The door rang and he hopped up. With another snap of his finger, cash that had been residing inside of a safe appeared in his hand. He opened the door, only realizing a moment too late he’d forgotten his sunglasses. He stuck his hand out to the delivery driver only to realize belatedly that he was dressed in… cream?

His head jerked up. “Aziraphale? What the devil are you doing here?”

“Ah—well, you left in such a hurry this afternoon we didn’t get a moment to discuss the…”

“Warlock?”

“Yes. Him.”

Crowley sighed. All dreams of a relaxing night in vanishing from his grasp.

“ _ Really _ Crowley, I don’t know why you insist on keeping such a crude thing in your flat!”

The demon groaned. “If we’ve had this conversation once, we’ve had it a hundred times. They are wrestling, angel!”

Aziraphale mumbled something under his breath as Crowley brushed past him, hips swaying as he walked. Aziraphale did his best to ignore him.

“Besides. A friend made it for me,” continued Crowley.

“Yes, yes. As you’ve told me.”

“—and it’s my flat, Angel. If I wanted to have a painting of myself nude—”

Aziraphale huffed. “Where else was I supposed to put it, Crowley? It was a gift!”

“And so was this,” Crowley reminded him.

“I am done having this conversation.”

Crowley flopped back onto the couch belly first. The sweatshirt had ridden up and rested just above his hips allowing Aziraphale a glimpse of his toned pale back.

The angel eyed Crowley's pants, trying and failing not to look at Crowley’s arse.  _ Original tempter _ indeed. Aziraphale shifted from where he was standing and sat down in a chair opposite Crowley. Those pants were sinfully tight over the demon’s curves; Aziraphale wasn’t even sure how he managed to look so comfortable when wearing something so restrictive.

He swallowed. From this angle, he could see the dimples of Crowley’s lower back and the sharpness of his hips. His hands would fit perfectly around the smallness of Crowley’s waist as he lifted him—

“So I had to tell him; _ No Warlock. We mustn’t try to follow Nanny into the bathroom _ . He just doesn’t seem to understand that I can in fact go to the restroom by myself. I’ve been doing it myself for over 6000 years and I’ve managed just fine alone.”

Aziraphale nodded, wishing he’d made a different sort of _ effort  _ before heading over. Crowley had lifted his legs up behind him, feet curled around the other. Heavens, it had been millennia since he’d seen Crowley’s bare ankles. It made him wonder what they would look like thrown over his—Aziraphale shook his head. Crowley was still talking. They needed to discuss Warlock. It was what he had come for. It wouldn’t do for the apocalypse to happen just because the angel tasked with protecting her creation in the first place was horny.

“He licked it! It must have tasted bad because he dropped it but how am I supposed to explain in my next report downstairs that the boy won’t stop trying to shove small reptiles and bugs in his mouth!”

Crowley was looking at him expectantly. Aziraphale blinked and tried to come up with a response. “I will have a talk with him, remind him we don’t eat sister—”

“But a frog! What would Hastur say?” 

“Ah. Well—” began Aziraphale.

“And a dead fly!” Crowley exclaimed. 

“Beelzebu—”

Crowley turned over on his side suddenly, the movement tugging his sweatshirt up further to reveal a toned belly with a dusting of red hair trailing down beneath his belly button. “What if he tries to eat a snake? What am I supposed to think?”

Aziraphale blinked. His mouth had gone dry.  _ Lord forgive him, for he was about to sin. _ All Aziraphale could think about was running his tongue over Crowley’s sharp hip bone, inciting a gasp from the demon’s lips as he followed the wisps of hair further down. He would take his time teasing Crowley. Pulling moans from him while Aziraphale explored the pale expanse of his belly. He could almost make out the outlines of Crowley’s cock through the thin material. Aziraphale would tug the pants around Crowley’s ankles. He licked his lips. Crowley would be plump between his lips. He could take his cock so prettily and make the demon squirm…

“—What do you think?”

“Um.” Aziraphale licked his lips. When had they gone so dry? “Sorry, what?”

Crowley lifted up from the couch, raising an eyebrow at him. “What’s wrong? You look worried and you’re distracted. Did something happen? Did heaven say something?”

“Oh no! Nothing like that.”

“Because if they did—”

“No! Nothing serious, my dear… it’s just—Oh! I believe I left the kettle on! Wouldn’t want to burn the shop down. I’ll just—go. Yes. I’ll go. Because of the kettle.”

Crowley’s eyebrows knitted together, “couldn’t you just—”

Aziraphale stood. “Pip-pip, Cheerio! Do come around for lunch one day before we’re due back. I would love to continue this conversation.” He was to the door before Crowley had a chance to stand up. The door slammed shut, and Crowley fell back onto the couch.

“Well, that was a thing.” Said Crowley to the empty room. He shrugged, used to the angel’s strange behavior after so many years. It was better to wait until Aziraphale was ready to tell him whatever was going on. In the meantime, he had pizza on the way and a carton of ice cream in the freezer. Rose said something silly on the television and all thoughts of Aziraphale went out the window. 

  
  
  


Across town, in an antique bookshop in Soho, an angel was furiously tugging at his clothes. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> A big thank you to Areita for betaing!!!!


End file.
